I am pretty narked off today.
Mainly because I am working. Two weeks ago I asked for a week’s annual leave, which was denied because I this week, I am meant to be testing our new database with access technology.
Not happening. So we have a guest, Johan, at home, Lynn taking time off after I was the one to agree to have him over, and me at work when I should be taking Johan round London, and no f**king testing either. In the meantime, Michael is doing the tour thang, and up till now, Johan and Mick didn’t know one another. Good job Mick’s boiler is knackered and is benefiting from the use of our central heating and bathing facilities.
I am freaking jumping mad. What a waste of a good day.
We get some reasonably good jazz in yesterday as part of the Johan on Tour season, at the Cricketers in Greenwich, a pub, which I have to say, I won’t be a rush to return to, mainly because of the diminishing supply of beer. It became pythonesque towards 2200. No lager (apart from bottled Becks), no bitter of any description, badly kept Guinness. Shit, I’m surprised they managed bar staff (well there was one of her, but she was over-worked and was very, very, very slow due to a fault with one of the pumps).
And by the way, the famous Tai Won Mein Noodle House in Greenwich is probably the least guide dog friendly place I have ever had the privilege to go to. It took threats with a mobile phone camera (I’ll snap your picture if you don’t back down with your stupid and illegal denial of service) and continued and ever-more angry threats from me to report them to Greenwich Council’s environmental health department. I’m just glad I was in an incredibly mouthy and articulate mood yesterday, as my next step would have been to make a loud announcement to the restaurant’s clientele that apartheid was alive and living in London. This wouldn’t have got us served, but, believe me, when I have done this in the past, patrons do tend to leave in disgust. The management here are tossers and need to spend time chivvying up on the laws of this country. Much as I loved the restaurant when I was a student living in Deptford for their cheap and tasty gut-fillers, this is the last time I go there or bring friends. (And their steamed dumplings, which once set the benchmark in my opinion, were deep fried – nasty nasty nasty).
Mood: Grrrrrrrrr + + +
Book: Too tired to read
Music: Too busy chatting with Johan / Lynn / Mick and getting pissed in the evening, hence lack of book and dearth of music.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Friday, August 19, 2005
Political correctness - a rant
I'm going to have a rant, something I've not done on here for quite a while.
Its in response to an email I received from a list I'm on, suggesting that multiculturalism has caused the dilution of our society. While I agree that being British isn't the same as it might have been in the 30s, 40s and 50s (and I'm not massively displeased with that), the email then mention that the sender's sone had a been banned from wearing an England T-shirt for games because it 'might cause offence', an argument I've heard for all manner of petty displays of patriotism. This started my blood boiling and elicited this response:
Mainly, its doesn't appear to be ethnic minorities who complain about our so-called racism (er, patriotism). Its do-gooding white people who, since they've set themselves the onerous task of solving the world's problems, ought to concentrate on real racism (you know, the stuff that causes real bloodshed and guts distress and reduced opportunities), and not this kind of thing which will only cause an ethnic minority distress if they set out to be distressed in the first place. Ostensibly it looks as if PC should benefit people like me,but the only thing its done is drive real racism, discrimination against disabled people and other poor attitudes towards minority groups underground, or covered up the issues in non-English English if you get what I mean.
Most Political Correctness in my humble opinion is geared to appeal to the lowest common denominator and directed by people who really ought to take themselves less seriously. Lynn came across someone on a chatlist who described himself as sight-free. Now I might tread one few toes by pointing out what seems to me to be obvious, but what's wrong with 'blind' or 'partially sighted' as a description? Both phrases do the job required of them. Unless you actively search for alternative ulterior meanings (blind = unknowing, as it "too blind to see I was being taken for a ride by my manipulative partner") then its a word understood by 99.9 percent of English speakers to mean someone with no or seriously reduced eyesight.
Adam, somewhat sight reduced
Its in response to an email I received from a list I'm on, suggesting that multiculturalism has caused the dilution of our society. While I agree that being British isn't the same as it might have been in the 30s, 40s and 50s (and I'm not massively displeased with that), the email then mention that the sender's sone had a been banned from wearing an England T-shirt for games because it 'might cause offence', an argument I've heard for all manner of petty displays of patriotism. This started my blood boiling and elicited this response:
Mainly, its doesn't appear to be ethnic minorities who complain about our so-called racism (er, patriotism). Its do-gooding white people who, since they've set themselves the onerous task of solving the world's problems, ought to concentrate on real racism (you know, the stuff that causes real bloodshed and guts distress and reduced opportunities), and not this kind of thing which will only cause an ethnic minority distress if they set out to be distressed in the first place. Ostensibly it looks as if PC should benefit people like me,but the only thing its done is drive real racism, discrimination against disabled people and other poor attitudes towards minority groups underground, or covered up the issues in non-English English if you get what I mean.
Most Political Correctness in my humble opinion is geared to appeal to the lowest common denominator and directed by people who really ought to take themselves less seriously. Lynn came across someone on a chatlist who described himself as sight-free. Now I might tread one few toes by pointing out what seems to me to be obvious, but what's wrong with 'blind' or 'partially sighted' as a description? Both phrases do the job required of them. Unless you actively search for alternative ulterior meanings (blind = unknowing, as it "too blind to see I was being taken for a ride by my manipulative partner") then its a word understood by 99.9 percent of English speakers to mean someone with no or seriously reduced eyesight.
Adam, somewhat sight reduced
Thursday, August 18, 2005
A level update
Just in, a very proud daughter phoned me to tell me the news.
So to the tune of 'here we go, here we go'....
...three straight As, three straight As, three straight As!
Nothing much needs saying! What a cool dude.
So to the tune of 'here we go, here we go'....
...three straight As, three straight As, three straight As!
Nothing much needs saying! What a cool dude.
Carly's A levels
We are eagerly awaiting Carly’s A level results. I’m probably more nervous than her.
Update to come as soon as I know…
Update to come as soon as I know…
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Bric a brac
I am now using Putty to tunnel into my work PC which speeds up things nicely now we’ve got 2 meg broadband. I was getting heartily sick of the slow speeds I encountered using dialup but until how I’ve not had much of a choice. This makes things whizz. It is almost as fast working here as it is in the office.
Mum and dad have been decorating the house now for several days and its looking good. Surprisingly, its not been at all painful having them here. What I mean by this is that you always feel the need to clear up (which they’ve done anyway), and somehow ‘fit in’ with them, which we’ve done to some extent, eg, smoking outside, making lots of tea (ugh! Grim stuff). They’ve redecorated the bathroom and living room painting away the nasty pink wallpaper our house was blessed with when we moved here five years ago. The house is looking somewhat better than it was. Now all we need to do is move to somewhere bigger, and possibly further into London.
To reciprocate for all their help, I’m taking mum out to buy her laptop – think I have the one she’ll need. I’m a bit worried about the lack of memory though, I’d be going for a gig myself, but they seem to think 256mb will be OK, and since they are only going to use it for email, who am I to dictate they spend more money.
Still feeling sad about Nigel. Last night was chatting to Lynn in bed about all the things he’d never now be able to do. Thank goodness she is here to talk to – whenever I start thinking about him too much, I become quite maudlin about the randomness of life and death.
Mick has an interview next week – his first one in over ten years.
Music: Orbital, various
Mood: A bit flat but better than yesterday
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Nigel Stevenson - RIP
I rarely mention people by their full names in this here blog, but I’m going to today, because he isn’t here to defend himself.
Nigel Stevenson, my work colleague for the last six years, died last night. He was 35, and his car was hit by another. I don’t know yet how or why. He died instantly.
Nigel smoked, in fact that’s how we met, in the smoker’s hole of shame outside RNIB in Great Portland Street. We smoked together, discussed writing together, as he too had written a number of pretty good pieces. He wasn’t the kind of buddy who you’d stake your life on, but he was a genuinely nice bloke, with a good heart and the sort of the bloke you could chat to. He was a moody bugger, and as a fellow moody bugger, I had a lot of empathy for him. We went to see Al Murray with him one evening and had a great time. He had a quiet, wicked sense of humour.
My nan died earlier this year, and I didn’t’ feel as devastated as I do by Nige’s death. Partly this is because we are the same age. Partly because of the randomness of his death. Partly because, well people like that, neither old, cancerous, hard-living, a hanger-around with bad company – they just don’t die do they? Where’s the fair play?
I’m writing this in the office, and earlier today you could hear a pin drop, just the sound of air conditioners to break the silence. All in all, a pretty sombre day for us.
So, Mr Stevenson, wherever you are, I hope you are doing well, either entertaining God with your wit, or haranguing the Devil himself.
And to my compatriot and colleague, fair thee well old bean.
Mood: Sombre
Music: Silence for once
Book: Watching the English by Kate Fox
Nigel Stevenson, my work colleague for the last six years, died last night. He was 35, and his car was hit by another. I don’t know yet how or why. He died instantly.
Nigel smoked, in fact that’s how we met, in the smoker’s hole of shame outside RNIB in Great Portland Street. We smoked together, discussed writing together, as he too had written a number of pretty good pieces. He wasn’t the kind of buddy who you’d stake your life on, but he was a genuinely nice bloke, with a good heart and the sort of the bloke you could chat to. He was a moody bugger, and as a fellow moody bugger, I had a lot of empathy for him. We went to see Al Murray with him one evening and had a great time. He had a quiet, wicked sense of humour.
My nan died earlier this year, and I didn’t’ feel as devastated as I do by Nige’s death. Partly this is because we are the same age. Partly because of the randomness of his death. Partly because, well people like that, neither old, cancerous, hard-living, a hanger-around with bad company – they just don’t die do they? Where’s the fair play?
I’m writing this in the office, and earlier today you could hear a pin drop, just the sound of air conditioners to break the silence. All in all, a pretty sombre day for us.
So, Mr Stevenson, wherever you are, I hope you are doing well, either entertaining God with your wit, or haranguing the Devil himself.
And to my compatriot and colleague, fair thee well old bean.
Mood: Sombre
Music: Silence for once
Book: Watching the English by Kate Fox
Thursday, August 11, 2005
The bus in London - funky (or least not dowdy)
A friend of mine works for the Snivel Service’s Department of Transport, and we got into a smallish debate about why bus patronage in London keep rising, while every where else, it falls year in year out. I wanted to know his theory.
Mine is simple. London government has made car ownership, or certainly drivership, quite expensive. Also, the bus priority measures in London (CCTVs in bus lanes, bus-controlled traffic lights) have made bus travel faster than elsewhere. Also, other than some towns in the North and Scotland, the cost of travelling on buses in London is comparatively cheap, especially when you include the aggro-factor of driving, plus the expense of parking. Plus, if you live in Central London, owning a car itself is tres pricey with residents' tickets and the likelihood that some kamikaze parking nazi will book you even if you park legally in your own street. This has led to a middle-class rejection of the car. Or rather the middle classes have come to realise that in London its not so important own cars given the existing reasonable alternative. Bus travel in London is the only place where it can be called classless. Ken has done wonders - where as the train was always seen as multi-class with its wealthy commuters and scurrying suburban secretaries, it never shared the same stigma of the bus.
Thatcher (that lovely woman) once said that a man aged 26 or over finding himself on the bus should consider himself a failure. This stigma never applied to trains, and to a lesser extent, tubes, which served some quite wealthy suburbs like Northwood, Golders Green and Epping. Unbelievably though, the reason the District Line is having problems with dwell times at stations was because it was decided in 1975 or 6, when the D stock trains were designed, that since Underground patronage would inevitably go down (yeah, right), they'd build the trains with smaller doors. So even the tube wasn't safe under the 80s Tories; they considered it a means of transport only the poor would need to use.
This sad philosophy failed: this is because there are only two options to choose from when considering a rising amount of cars in a fixed amount of space:
a) make car ownership harder (eg, more expensive)
b) build more roads. Which the Tories were quite happy to do, a la M25, numerous by-passes and so on). This was destined to fail. Numero uno, we like to kid ourselves we are a "green" nation. This is obviously bollocks, but it is true that Brits hate the idea of killing their environment, as they crank up the heat to max and invest in that new truly earth-saving 4 wheel drive leviathan. Secondly, simply put, no one wants to live near a motorway. The only time this is acceptable is when you are at the M52/M6 TravelLodge and want a hasty start to your day's journey.
Cuddly Ken's adoption of plan a) has left a vacuum of journeys which still need to be made by people who still need to make them. Thus, the tubes of London are busier than they have ever been. The Victoria Line itself is running 3 times over its intended capacity, with a train about every 3 minutes throughout the day, the most that can be run, bearing in mind trains actually need servicing, cleaning etc. This vacuum is further being filled by buses, which to some extent have plugged the gap left by clearer roads courtesy of the congestion charge. In London, unlike any other city in the UK, the bus too has become classless, no matter what Thatcher in her "wisdom" would have to say about it. In a sense, getting a bus in London is like experiencing a microcosm of London itself.
Elsewhere buses are full of chavs, elderly women doing the shopping, and the Thatcherite definition of a loser (read poor), as well as the desperate looking, lost person who's car is in for a service.
Ken - we love you. Now London now only has the cheapest bus transport in the UK, but one of the best.
Except the 103 which is appalling both in fleet (knackered old Olympians allegedly due to retire in November) and timetable. A bus every half hour in the evenings and all day Sunday is no incentive to spend the evening in Romford, our local large town.
Its not because Londoners are inherently greener than anyone else, or have a nostalgic attachment to their red double deckers. Its because they have no choice. And bearing in mind the environmental catastrophes, on a micro-level and on a world-wide scale, damn good they don't.
Mine is simple. London government has made car ownership, or certainly drivership, quite expensive. Also, the bus priority measures in London (CCTVs in bus lanes, bus-controlled traffic lights) have made bus travel faster than elsewhere. Also, other than some towns in the North and Scotland, the cost of travelling on buses in London is comparatively cheap, especially when you include the aggro-factor of driving, plus the expense of parking. Plus, if you live in Central London, owning a car itself is tres pricey with residents' tickets and the likelihood that some kamikaze parking nazi will book you even if you park legally in your own street. This has led to a middle-class rejection of the car. Or rather the middle classes have come to realise that in London its not so important own cars given the existing reasonable alternative. Bus travel in London is the only place where it can be called classless. Ken has done wonders - where as the train was always seen as multi-class with its wealthy commuters and scurrying suburban secretaries, it never shared the same stigma of the bus.
Thatcher (that lovely woman) once said that a man aged 26 or over finding himself on the bus should consider himself a failure. This stigma never applied to trains, and to a lesser extent, tubes, which served some quite wealthy suburbs like Northwood, Golders Green and Epping. Unbelievably though, the reason the District Line is having problems with dwell times at stations was because it was decided in 1975 or 6, when the D stock trains were designed, that since Underground patronage would inevitably go down (yeah, right), they'd build the trains with smaller doors. So even the tube wasn't safe under the 80s Tories; they considered it a means of transport only the poor would need to use.
This sad philosophy failed: this is because there are only two options to choose from when considering a rising amount of cars in a fixed amount of space:
a) make car ownership harder (eg, more expensive)
b) build more roads. Which the Tories were quite happy to do, a la M25, numerous by-passes and so on). This was destined to fail. Numero uno, we like to kid ourselves we are a "green" nation. This is obviously bollocks, but it is true that Brits hate the idea of killing their environment, as they crank up the heat to max and invest in that new truly earth-saving 4 wheel drive leviathan. Secondly, simply put, no one wants to live near a motorway. The only time this is acceptable is when you are at the M52/M6 TravelLodge and want a hasty start to your day's journey.
Cuddly Ken's adoption of plan a) has left a vacuum of journeys which still need to be made by people who still need to make them. Thus, the tubes of London are busier than they have ever been. The Victoria Line itself is running 3 times over its intended capacity, with a train about every 3 minutes throughout the day, the most that can be run, bearing in mind trains actually need servicing, cleaning etc. This vacuum is further being filled by buses, which to some extent have plugged the gap left by clearer roads courtesy of the congestion charge. In London, unlike any other city in the UK, the bus too has become classless, no matter what Thatcher in her "wisdom" would have to say about it. In a sense, getting a bus in London is like experiencing a microcosm of London itself.
Elsewhere buses are full of chavs, elderly women doing the shopping, and the Thatcherite definition of a loser (read poor), as well as the desperate looking, lost person who's car is in for a service.
Ken - we love you. Now London now only has the cheapest bus transport in the UK, but one of the best.
Except the 103 which is appalling both in fleet (knackered old Olympians allegedly due to retire in November) and timetable. A bus every half hour in the evenings and all day Sunday is no incentive to spend the evening in Romford, our local large town.
Its not because Londoners are inherently greener than anyone else, or have a nostalgic attachment to their red double deckers. Its because they have no choice. And bearing in mind the environmental catastrophes, on a micro-level and on a world-wide scale, damn good they don't.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Reply to Diego's email
Hello Diego
Yours are the first comments I've recieved on this blog. Oddly, Gmail forwarded your first comment but not the second one, which i found on Blogspot, but my reply applies to both I hope. I did try replying to your email yesterday before realising that the reply-path was to anonymous-sender. Perhaps there's a setting in blogspot which can fix that, but maybe its because you've deliberately chosen to remain anonymous. There isn't a 'reply to comment' link on Blogspot which seems like a bit of an ommission to me.
Anyway, here's my reply.
(I'll keep this post on the blog for the next month or so which I hope finds you. Let me know if you read it, but bear in mind I can't reply to you via conventional email)
Hiya Diego.
Thanks very much for you helpful comments regarding the Mac operating system and Voiceover. I'm actually surprised you or indeed anyone else has found my blog. I tried looking for it on Google myself recently and it didn't show up on the first couple of pages. So far, its been a sort of personal random diary of bits and bobs significant to me rather than anything I've encouraged people to actually look at, hence the lack of (ie, 0!) comments. But hey, its a *blog* so I guess it was inevitable someone would find me some day :)
You are the only person I've come across with a visual impairment of any kind who uses a Macintosh. I think in a version's time or so, theMac will catch on with the blind and VI communities as word gets around that you don't have to spend a fortune on top of your computer on speech/mag technology to actually use the computer out of the box.I'm sure if Apple consult with blind and partially sighted users they can work wonders in perfecting Voiceover. My wife, who is a web developer and totally blind, was initially rather sceptical when I mentioned to her that I was dallying with the idea of buying a Mac, but now I think she's curious having read a few reviews. Her comments, backed up by the reviews I've read, is that as a totally blind user, you can use the existing package of applications which come with the standard out-the-box system, but there was no guarantee old software, which never had Voiceover in mind, would work properly. I'd be happy with a decent magnifier, but since my wife and I share acomputer, the speech element is important, as there isn't analternative for the mac as yet. And whereas JAWS can be used to navigate quite complicated documents and web pages, this doesn'tappear to be the case with voiceover right now, but I think she wants to play as much as I do regardless of its known problems.
A mate of mine used to use (I might have the name wrong here) Appletalk, which as you say, was phased out. I can see why Apple felt financially, if not socially,obliged to create an accessible means of entry to their systems -obviously the US education market is worth a fortune to them so it makes good business sense. However, I regard Microsoft's reason for NOT including a similar system, even a half-baked but workable one (yep, the Windows magnification 'program' is cr*p indeed). They say that they don't want to put small companies who currently design and market such software out of business. If they have such a big hearted attitude to small businesses, then I'm afraid this hasn't been evident much in the past (ask Netscape!). And they could do what most business do when they are large and want to acquire the rights of the smaller business - buy it up lock stock and barrel and invest Microsoft millions into making a product which doesn't bluescreen out (as my old copy of Zoomtext Xtra used to three or four times a day at work). At least they'd be able to write the accessibility code alongside the main windows code, which would in theory make a tighter, better integrated OS.
I'll be trying the Apple Store again, only this time I'll book up one of their Genius staff. To be honest, I was surprised at how full the store was, as I left work deliberately early to miss the rush. The staff were not unfriendly, but they did seem overwhelmed with the number of visitors. I suppose the West End tourist zone is never empty. Now, if they opened a smaller store in the suburbs....
Thanks again for your comments.
Best regards
Adam
London UK
Yours are the first comments I've recieved on this blog. Oddly, Gmail forwarded your first comment but not the second one, which i found on Blogspot, but my reply applies to both I hope. I did try replying to your email yesterday before realising that the reply-path was to anonymous-sender. Perhaps there's a setting in blogspot which can fix that, but maybe its because you've deliberately chosen to remain anonymous. There isn't a 'reply to comment' link on Blogspot which seems like a bit of an ommission to me.
Anyway, here's my reply.
(I'll keep this post on the blog for the next month or so which I hope finds you. Let me know if you read it, but bear in mind I can't reply to you via conventional email)
Hiya Diego.
Thanks very much for you helpful comments regarding the Mac operating system and Voiceover. I'm actually surprised you or indeed anyone else has found my blog. I tried looking for it on Google myself recently and it didn't show up on the first couple of pages. So far, its been a sort of personal random diary of bits and bobs significant to me rather than anything I've encouraged people to actually look at, hence the lack of (ie, 0!) comments. But hey, its a *blog* so I guess it was inevitable someone would find me some day :)
You are the only person I've come across with a visual impairment of any kind who uses a Macintosh. I think in a version's time or so, theMac will catch on with the blind and VI communities as word gets around that you don't have to spend a fortune on top of your computer on speech/mag technology to actually use the computer out of the box.I'm sure if Apple consult with blind and partially sighted users they can work wonders in perfecting Voiceover. My wife, who is a web developer and totally blind, was initially rather sceptical when I mentioned to her that I was dallying with the idea of buying a Mac, but now I think she's curious having read a few reviews. Her comments, backed up by the reviews I've read, is that as a totally blind user, you can use the existing package of applications which come with the standard out-the-box system, but there was no guarantee old software, which never had Voiceover in mind, would work properly. I'd be happy with a decent magnifier, but since my wife and I share acomputer, the speech element is important, as there isn't analternative for the mac as yet. And whereas JAWS can be used to navigate quite complicated documents and web pages, this doesn'tappear to be the case with voiceover right now, but I think she wants to play as much as I do regardless of its known problems.
A mate of mine used to use (I might have the name wrong here) Appletalk, which as you say, was phased out. I can see why Apple felt financially, if not socially,obliged to create an accessible means of entry to their systems -obviously the US education market is worth a fortune to them so it makes good business sense. However, I regard Microsoft's reason for NOT including a similar system, even a half-baked but workable one (yep, the Windows magnification 'program' is cr*p indeed). They say that they don't want to put small companies who currently design and market such software out of business. If they have such a big hearted attitude to small businesses, then I'm afraid this hasn't been evident much in the past (ask Netscape!). And they could do what most business do when they are large and want to acquire the rights of the smaller business - buy it up lock stock and barrel and invest Microsoft millions into making a product which doesn't bluescreen out (as my old copy of Zoomtext Xtra used to three or four times a day at work). At least they'd be able to write the accessibility code alongside the main windows code, which would in theory make a tighter, better integrated OS.
I'll be trying the Apple Store again, only this time I'll book up one of their Genius staff. To be honest, I was surprised at how full the store was, as I left work deliberately early to miss the rush. The staff were not unfriendly, but they did seem overwhelmed with the number of visitors. I suppose the West End tourist zone is never empty. Now, if they opened a smaller store in the suburbs....
Thanks again for your comments.
Best regards
Adam
London UK
Trip to Ireland / Christianity
Well I’ve been back from Northern Ireland since last Friday and loved it there. We drove the Antrim coast from Larne to the Giants’ Causeway, then on to Port Rush, via the scary rope bridge. With the mad weather they have over there – basically rain and wind 24/7 – it must be one of the most cut off spots in Britain. The whole feel of the place is one of isolation, and quite beautiful desolation. If anyone is reading this from abroad and fancies going to Ireland, this is a must-see, just so you can experience the atmosphere. Like a lot of Ireland, though, you will need a car, as public transport isn’t up to much. One day I’ll actually post some photos on this blog and all the crap I’m writing about might make a bit more sense.
In Ireland, as well as meeting my beloved mum-in-law (I guess I go against the grain of mother-in-law jokes, she’s quite a special woman and I love her to bits! – and what a life she’s had too), and Caron, Sandra, and the various kids, Lynn was baptised at Pastor Billy’s church in Belfast, my mum and dad met the outlaws for the first time (and got on famously – they’ll be making return trips without us now!). We did a lot of driving (Loch Neagh, Lisburn, Carrickfergus Castle). Had a generally and very needed chilled out time.
My parents are coming over next week to do the much needed decorating on our house, nothing major, but a lot of snagging. We’re trying to sell up still, but the housing market in our part of the world basically froze around October last year, I expect to by writing this here blog from this here computer in the same house next year. Sad, but London winning the Olympic bid has meant that we’re going to be outpaced price wise in the parts of East London we originally set our sights on. So it looks like we’re going to have to look elsewhere or remain in Daggers, which is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, this house as done us proud, and it’s a pretty safe area, within walking distance of the tube, and generally not too unfriendly a place to be. On the other, we are 16 miles from the centre of town, and getting in even when the tube is running perfectly takes over an hour. Mind you, if could be Hayes!! (Note, I grew up in Hayes, so I know what I’m on about –the one in Kent isn’t too bad though!)
After Lynn’s baptism, she needed to find a church over here. For her, whenever she goes home, she gets fired up on a religious kick, which then dies when she returns to Dagenham. And thanks to a guy called Graham, on the blindoscafe list, she found one. Its only about 7 mins from ours on the bus, and you can take a look at it by going here: www.bethel.org.uk. My first impressions of it? – well it offers a good mixture of both spirituality (if that doesn’t sound too ‘new age’) and intellect. I’ve found churches I’ve left to be lacking in one or both of these aspects. I told the pastor that I came to Christianity from a cynic’s point of view, and had quite a few problems with reconciling my religious upbringing (my parents were Billy Graham converts during his 60s London mission) and my ultimate faith in empiricist science. I’m also a very self-reliant person (Lynn wonders sometimes why I got married) and therefore leaving what happens in my life to an ‘outsider’, namely God, is something I’ve a real problem with. My independence hasn’t really been a issue up till now, I’ve got to say, because there are too many people unable or unwilling take responsibility for their lives, but I don’t suppose as a fully functioning Christian you can be 100 percent dependent on yourself. I feel like a complete weakling when I find myself needing someone else, or a resource I can’t get via my own efforts. Anyway, this is an issue I’ll keep on the back burner as I do intend to keep going to Bethel. If they can deal with me (and the minister didn’t seem fazed by directness in telling him what I’ve written above) then perhaps I’ve found the spiritual place I need to be.
All that I can say about the Lynn is that I’m proud of her for sticking her neck out so publicly. She is no longer afraid to tell people about her Christianity. Its deeply unfashionable in the London I know to admit your faith, and doing it, especially to her boss, who is a very public atheist, takes a lot of balls. Sometimes it feels how it must have been to be gay in a small village circa 1952.
In Ireland, as well as meeting my beloved mum-in-law (I guess I go against the grain of mother-in-law jokes, she’s quite a special woman and I love her to bits! – and what a life she’s had too), and Caron, Sandra, and the various kids, Lynn was baptised at Pastor Billy’s church in Belfast, my mum and dad met the outlaws for the first time (and got on famously – they’ll be making return trips without us now!). We did a lot of driving (Loch Neagh, Lisburn, Carrickfergus Castle). Had a generally and very needed chilled out time.
My parents are coming over next week to do the much needed decorating on our house, nothing major, but a lot of snagging. We’re trying to sell up still, but the housing market in our part of the world basically froze around October last year, I expect to by writing this here blog from this here computer in the same house next year. Sad, but London winning the Olympic bid has meant that we’re going to be outpaced price wise in the parts of East London we originally set our sights on. So it looks like we’re going to have to look elsewhere or remain in Daggers, which is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, this house as done us proud, and it’s a pretty safe area, within walking distance of the tube, and generally not too unfriendly a place to be. On the other, we are 16 miles from the centre of town, and getting in even when the tube is running perfectly takes over an hour. Mind you, if could be Hayes!! (Note, I grew up in Hayes, so I know what I’m on about –the one in Kent isn’t too bad though!)
After Lynn’s baptism, she needed to find a church over here. For her, whenever she goes home, she gets fired up on a religious kick, which then dies when she returns to Dagenham. And thanks to a guy called Graham, on the blindoscafe list, she found one. Its only about 7 mins from ours on the bus, and you can take a look at it by going here: www.bethel.org.uk. My first impressions of it? – well it offers a good mixture of both spirituality (if that doesn’t sound too ‘new age’) and intellect. I’ve found churches I’ve left to be lacking in one or both of these aspects. I told the pastor that I came to Christianity from a cynic’s point of view, and had quite a few problems with reconciling my religious upbringing (my parents were Billy Graham converts during his 60s London mission) and my ultimate faith in empiricist science. I’m also a very self-reliant person (Lynn wonders sometimes why I got married) and therefore leaving what happens in my life to an ‘outsider’, namely God, is something I’ve a real problem with. My independence hasn’t really been a issue up till now, I’ve got to say, because there are too many people unable or unwilling take responsibility for their lives, but I don’t suppose as a fully functioning Christian you can be 100 percent dependent on yourself. I feel like a complete weakling when I find myself needing someone else, or a resource I can’t get via my own efforts. Anyway, this is an issue I’ll keep on the back burner as I do intend to keep going to Bethel. If they can deal with me (and the minister didn’t seem fazed by directness in telling him what I’ve written above) then perhaps I’ve found the spiritual place I need to be.
All that I can say about the Lynn is that I’m proud of her for sticking her neck out so publicly. She is no longer afraid to tell people about her Christianity. Its deeply unfashionable in the London I know to admit your faith, and doing it, especially to her boss, who is a very public atheist, takes a lot of balls. Sometimes it feels how it must have been to be gay in a small village circa 1952.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
The usual old crud
The answer was of course Sir Cliff. Who had no idea apparently that his song Honky Tonk Angel was referring to a prostitute until it was subtly pointed out to him after it had been released.
This week so far has been one of the most hectic ever. We’re going away in a few days time and I’m playing pre-catch up. This wasn’t helped by our servers playing rotten sods – aided by me I might add who crashed the system well after the only person with permission to reset the server was long gone. Monday was an 11 hour day and today was fairly short knowing that I’ll be up to my neck on Wednesday and Thursday.
Harry MdDowell, friend of Lynn’s family died on Monday of asbestosis – what a rotten way to go. I met him a few times, but he was hardly a mate. His funeral is on Thursday, the day before we travel of Northern Ireland with my parents and the Big Girl so thank the lord above we’ll be missing that. Given the Marno’s, it’ll be a drama fest being my capabilities. Lynn has kept her job after being job matched, and I’ve been told my boss that after being job matched meself I should be going up a grade. Oh the career rages on an express-train like pace. In 2000 years I’ll be head of ICT!
More good news. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this but Carly disposed of her mobile phone along with cash and cards on a train last Wednesday. Thank goodness for the kind station staff at Oxford station who picked it up and kept it aside for her. After they (or a passenger) raided the cash first. I was dreading paying out for a new phone and a new copy of Talks (speech software used by blind people on mobiles) which would have been around £180 – 250 smackeroonies. ]
This may be the last entry for a while as I’ll be away for a week or so, and in the meantime, have more work than I could possibly throw a large plank of wood at. I’m sort of dreading/looking forward to the holiday with my parents in NI, mainly because its their first time there, they haven’t met the crazy Marnos (who are a lovely bunch of people, especially Granny Annie (my mum in law, my two sisters in law Caron and Sandra, and Donna. But love them or hate them, they can be hard work. And let’s face it, after the last holiday I went on with my parents, to Prague, an unmitigated disaster, I swore that I should have left my last holiday with them back in my teens. It was only disaster really because some Czech fuckwits stole from them, not once but twice in a week. They aren’t the most streetwise of people, granted, and this sort of thing has never happened to either of us, but they deserved better. It’s just that you can only take so much stress on holiday. And Craigavon may have some rough edges to put it mildly (bullets fired through windows, you know, gentle stuff) but I do believe their wallet and possessions will mainly be safe.
Book: Just Metro at the moment
Sounds: TV – well ‘Bunking Off’ on BBC1 to be exact, but its only background as I type and the remote is underneath Lynn who is sleeping.
Mood: Knackered
This week so far has been one of the most hectic ever. We’re going away in a few days time and I’m playing pre-catch up. This wasn’t helped by our servers playing rotten sods – aided by me I might add who crashed the system well after the only person with permission to reset the server was long gone. Monday was an 11 hour day and today was fairly short knowing that I’ll be up to my neck on Wednesday and Thursday.
Harry MdDowell, friend of Lynn’s family died on Monday of asbestosis – what a rotten way to go. I met him a few times, but he was hardly a mate. His funeral is on Thursday, the day before we travel of Northern Ireland with my parents and the Big Girl so thank the lord above we’ll be missing that. Given the Marno’s, it’ll be a drama fest being my capabilities. Lynn has kept her job after being job matched, and I’ve been told my boss that after being job matched meself I should be going up a grade. Oh the career rages on an express-train like pace. In 2000 years I’ll be head of ICT!
More good news. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this but Carly disposed of her mobile phone along with cash and cards on a train last Wednesday. Thank goodness for the kind station staff at Oxford station who picked it up and kept it aside for her. After they (or a passenger) raided the cash first. I was dreading paying out for a new phone and a new copy of Talks (speech software used by blind people on mobiles) which would have been around £180 – 250 smackeroonies. ]
This may be the last entry for a while as I’ll be away for a week or so, and in the meantime, have more work than I could possibly throw a large plank of wood at. I’m sort of dreading/looking forward to the holiday with my parents in NI, mainly because its their first time there, they haven’t met the crazy Marnos (who are a lovely bunch of people, especially Granny Annie (my mum in law, my two sisters in law Caron and Sandra, and Donna. But love them or hate them, they can be hard work. And let’s face it, after the last holiday I went on with my parents, to Prague, an unmitigated disaster, I swore that I should have left my last holiday with them back in my teens. It was only disaster really because some Czech fuckwits stole from them, not once but twice in a week. They aren’t the most streetwise of people, granted, and this sort of thing has never happened to either of us, but they deserved better. It’s just that you can only take so much stress on holiday. And Craigavon may have some rough edges to put it mildly (bullets fired through windows, you know, gentle stuff) but I do believe their wallet and possessions will mainly be safe.
Book: Just Metro at the moment
Sounds: TV – well ‘Bunking Off’ on BBC1 to be exact, but its only background as I type and the remote is underneath Lynn who is sleeping.
Mood: Knackered
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Meek, but not mild
A fantastic CD arrived this morning.
That CD is the best of Joe Meek. There are many things that I cold write about him, but more detailed and accurate descriptions can be found with a quick Goggle if you haven't heard of this pioneer of British pop. You should have a listen, but if you've heard Telstar, the 1962 instrumental and the largest selling instrumental of all time, and coincidentally, the first British hit to reach no. 1 in the USA then you already have.
The CD arrived after seeing the West End play 'Telstar' last Saturday. There is definitely more cheese on this album than inside the average gorgonzola warehouse, but there are a surprisingly large number of excellent tracks as well, tracks that make you wonder why only Sean Rowley plays them today. They've put me in an incredibly good mood.
See the play. Buy the CD, and send me your thanks. But most of all, go and read the history of this complex, troubled purveyor of genius and sleazy tracks. I think Lynn and me should pay homage to him at the annual RGM Appreciation society bash.
Many of his tracks were banned by the BBC over issues of taste and decency. Lynn, looking on Google for other artists' banned tracks found this fact. Only one artist has asked for his *own* track to be banned. Who was it?
Answer on next entry.
That CD is the best of Joe Meek. There are many things that I cold write about him, but more detailed and accurate descriptions can be found with a quick Goggle if you haven't heard of this pioneer of British pop. You should have a listen, but if you've heard Telstar, the 1962 instrumental and the largest selling instrumental of all time, and coincidentally, the first British hit to reach no. 1 in the USA then you already have.
The CD arrived after seeing the West End play 'Telstar' last Saturday. There is definitely more cheese on this album than inside the average gorgonzola warehouse, but there are a surprisingly large number of excellent tracks as well, tracks that make you wonder why only Sean Rowley plays them today. They've put me in an incredibly good mood.
See the play. Buy the CD, and send me your thanks. But most of all, go and read the history of this complex, troubled purveyor of genius and sleazy tracks. I think Lynn and me should pay homage to him at the annual RGM Appreciation society bash.
Many of his tracks were banned by the BBC over issues of taste and decency. Lynn, looking on Google for other artists' banned tracks found this fact. Only one artist has asked for his *own* track to be banned. Who was it?
Answer on next entry.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Low grade fear - oh joy
Another bomb yesterday.
How very depressing. Just as we thought we could get back to work, suddenly, the whole ball-game is changing to what looks like the long haul.
If I were more of a cynic than I already am, and frankly, that's cynical enough for several good men, I'd think that the whole shebang is being manipulated, not by some religious zealots, but an Orwellian minded government bent on making the population under it as frightened, powerless and as manipulable as possible. Who knows, perhaps it is.
Someone got shot at Stockwell station. Not sure if it’s one of the bombers at this moment, but I do hope it is. They deserve the mercy they would have shown my wife, Kizz and me, i.e., none.
And to think, not so long ago I was a liberal do-gooder. Now I just feel like a stressed out c**t. Why isn't the government being criticised more than it is? A nice little (three months) holiday will suit our MPs anyway, who can jet off to Tuscany and small Caribbean Islands while the rest of us sweat it out on the Northern Line.
Oddly, I am much more fazed by this attempt, even though nothing really happened, than after the first, which we all thought inevitable after New York Are we about to enter a new Beirut? Would sincerely like to think not.
We were going to see War of the Worlds tonight, but alas, the cinema we elected to go to is not running Audio Description at all times. Oh no, that's far too complicated. To see it, we'd have to go on Tuesday afternoon - like, some of us don't actually frigging well *work* - or Sunday afternoon at 4. Well this Sunday I'm going to help out Mick with a job application.
I've read the first chapter of Chris Cleaver's book, mentioned a few articles ago. Please read, and when it comes out, buy. It’s the soundtrack to accompany the musical currently playing out in London. Its one of those reads certaion passages in which makes you shiver.
Mood: Grumpy and hacked off with knowing that the only way forward is low-grade fear (two close calls so far, so justifiable paranoia methinks)
Book: Hip Hop America
Sounds: Telly
How very depressing. Just as we thought we could get back to work, suddenly, the whole ball-game is changing to what looks like the long haul.
If I were more of a cynic than I already am, and frankly, that's cynical enough for several good men, I'd think that the whole shebang is being manipulated, not by some religious zealots, but an Orwellian minded government bent on making the population under it as frightened, powerless and as manipulable as possible. Who knows, perhaps it is.
Someone got shot at Stockwell station. Not sure if it’s one of the bombers at this moment, but I do hope it is. They deserve the mercy they would have shown my wife, Kizz and me, i.e., none.
And to think, not so long ago I was a liberal do-gooder. Now I just feel like a stressed out c**t. Why isn't the government being criticised more than it is? A nice little (three months) holiday will suit our MPs anyway, who can jet off to Tuscany and small Caribbean Islands while the rest of us sweat it out on the Northern Line.
Oddly, I am much more fazed by this attempt, even though nothing really happened, than after the first, which we all thought inevitable after New York Are we about to enter a new Beirut? Would sincerely like to think not.
We were going to see War of the Worlds tonight, but alas, the cinema we elected to go to is not running Audio Description at all times. Oh no, that's far too complicated. To see it, we'd have to go on Tuesday afternoon - like, some of us don't actually frigging well *work* - or Sunday afternoon at 4. Well this Sunday I'm going to help out Mick with a job application.
I've read the first chapter of Chris Cleaver's book, mentioned a few articles ago. Please read, and when it comes out, buy. It’s the soundtrack to accompany the musical currently playing out in London. Its one of those reads certaion passages in which makes you shiver.
Mood: Grumpy and hacked off with knowing that the only way forward is low-grade fear (two close calls so far, so justifiable paranoia methinks)
Book: Hip Hop America
Sounds: Telly
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
A is for Apple. B is buggering off
Travelled to the Apple Store in Regent Street yesterday and quite honestly, I was unimpressed. The store itself was beautifully designed, with spotlights and glass all over the place. But the actual experience left a lot to be desired. For a start, the computers on display were all being occupied by students replying to their Hotmail. This isn't what I as a potentially paying customer. There were plenty of computers - I'd come specifically to examine the laptops, particularly the iBook. The second major problem was the sheer number of people versus the number of available staff. The Genius Bar upstairs, which should have been a haven for question-asking, complete Apple no-brains, was again full queuing, rather patient looking people. I didn't have the patience, and left after five minutes of fruitless waiting.
I use a combination of PCs, mainly Dells, both at work and home. The exception is a clapped out Fujitsu-Siemens which is languishing in a corner of the bedroom-cum-office. This piece of kit should be really put outside on the nearest skip, but alas, we can't bear to part with it, our faithful RAM equipped friend.
We have a reasonably old Dell laptop, which I'm typing this on now, while half-watching "The Bill". The thing is, I want a laptop which can double up as my main desktop computer as Lynn and me both need access for our various nefarious out-of-work hobbies. My writing, and her HTLM-ing and other computer related stuff beyond my not-caring brain. So although this laptop is fine for a bit of word processing and some netta the netting, I'd like a machine with primarily more storage and more processing grunt than the average laptop.
There lies the promise of the Mac. A machine whose spec I've looked at on the Apple site and have salivated over. I like the fact that it comes with Voiceover, a magnification and speech package, as part of the operating system. I use Zoom text Xtra as a magnification tool, and would dearly love Microsoft to bite the bullet and include a mag-screen reader as part of Windows, but the won't. Their reason being that they don't wish to squash the little companies who make the various PC options - JAWS, Magic, Supernova et al. This argument is patent bollocks. Did it stop them "killing" Netscape? No. The various innovative companies the giant M has swallowed didn't seem to figure in their pathetic argument. Apple include their access tech as part of the OS-X operating system, Tiger. This is why I'm interested - a copy of Zoomtext costs £500 or so for the all-singing-all-dancing version. The cost of basic spec Mini Mac is £309. Work it out for yourself.
However, two things have put me off buying a Mac laptop, though I confess the Mini is still calling:
1) The Apple experience should have been a pleasure, and wasn't. In the end I looked at the laptop Mac in PCWorld, Stepney Green. And this leads to fundamental reason no. 2.
2) I *hate* that frigging keyboard. Flat, lifeless and utter pants. I thought the Dell keyboard I'm currently banging on was so-so, but this is a complete joy to use in comparison.
I use a combination of PCs, mainly Dells, both at work and home. The exception is a clapped out Fujitsu-Siemens which is languishing in a corner of the bedroom-cum-office. This piece of kit should be really put outside on the nearest skip, but alas, we can't bear to part with it, our faithful RAM equipped friend.
We have a reasonably old Dell laptop, which I'm typing this on now, while half-watching "The Bill". The thing is, I want a laptop which can double up as my main desktop computer as Lynn and me both need access for our various nefarious out-of-work hobbies. My writing, and her HTLM-ing and other computer related stuff beyond my not-caring brain. So although this laptop is fine for a bit of word processing and some netta the netting, I'd like a machine with primarily more storage and more processing grunt than the average laptop.
There lies the promise of the Mac. A machine whose spec I've looked at on the Apple site and have salivated over. I like the fact that it comes with Voiceover, a magnification and speech package, as part of the operating system. I use Zoom text Xtra as a magnification tool, and would dearly love Microsoft to bite the bullet and include a mag-screen reader as part of Windows, but the won't. Their reason being that they don't wish to squash the little companies who make the various PC options - JAWS, Magic, Supernova et al. This argument is patent bollocks. Did it stop them "killing" Netscape? No. The various innovative companies the giant M has swallowed didn't seem to figure in their pathetic argument. Apple include their access tech as part of the OS-X operating system, Tiger. This is why I'm interested - a copy of Zoomtext costs £500 or so for the all-singing-all-dancing version. The cost of basic spec Mini Mac is £309. Work it out for yourself.
However, two things have put me off buying a Mac laptop, though I confess the Mini is still calling:
1) The Apple experience should have been a pleasure, and wasn't. In the end I looked at the laptop Mac in PCWorld, Stepney Green. And this leads to fundamental reason no. 2.
2) I *hate* that frigging keyboard. Flat, lifeless and utter pants. I thought the Dell keyboard I'm currently banging on was so-so, but this is a complete joy to use in comparison.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Quick one
Just a quick one.
Lynn is doing her second level counselling exam tonight.
Good luck babes.
We’ll enjoy the French fodder afterwards however well it went.
(Postscript - the French place was in fact closed. So we had a very average Indian instead).
Lynn is doing her second level counselling exam tonight.
Good luck babes.
We’ll enjoy the French fodder afterwards however well it went.
(Postscript - the French place was in fact closed. So we had a very average Indian instead).
The unluckiest man in publishing?
Chris Cleave must be the unluckiest author of 2005.
First of all, he writes a book. Topical, stimulating, questioning. Its about a bomb going off in London.
Only thing, on the day of publication, 7 July, a bomb really does go off in London. Now that's tough deal.
The moral question he and his publishers have to face is, of course, should he publish? I've written a little bit myself and know that completing a story is a birthing process. I'm sure he can't believe the poor timing of the bomb, and Im sure there's a selfish, secret part of him that wants to let it loose on to a cynical world, and be damned. His labour, his time, his earnings. But he's a decent sort of chap it seems, and has a website where he asks his potential readers whether he should publish or not. Immediately one might think "no! - the poor taste of it..." etc. On the other hand, I'm going to work as normal and London seems to be pretty normal. As one commentator quoted in the New York Times said "should we not print stories about the second world war which might offend war veterans?"
I think he'll be cursed if he publishes by the politically correct mindfuckmonkeys in the media. But I reckon his publishers should go ahead anyway. Sure, the bombs were traumatizing, and many, including my dearly beloved, have not slept well as a result since. This is to be human. Its an inevitable symptom of a violent, but more importantly, uncommon event. It was truly frightening, especially for Lynn who had a near miss at Aldgate. Perhaps it took her back to radically, 1972. But Londoners, like the majority of Northern Irelanders of the 70s, are sturdy creatures and almost nothing can stop us from rocking on. Careful, intelligent analysis of the causes is a good thing. But if we are bitter and angry, and if we retrench too far into our little lives, only connecting with family and close friends as some Americans appear to have done after 9/11, the bastards win. We are not *better* than Americans - God knows how freaking awful it must have been for Americans, New Yorkers especially, but its not been a British tradition over the centuries to get anal and self-absorbed after these kinds of event. Just ask old timers who survived the Blitz.
So give it a decent pause, then publish. London carries on motoring, including its book publishing business.
Go to www.chriscleaver.com to leave your own opinion.
Mood: Bit bored
Book: Hip Hop America by Nelson...oh shit can't be bothered to check
Noise: Tubes and C2C trains going by
First of all, he writes a book. Topical, stimulating, questioning. Its about a bomb going off in London.
Only thing, on the day of publication, 7 July, a bomb really does go off in London. Now that's tough deal.
The moral question he and his publishers have to face is, of course, should he publish? I've written a little bit myself and know that completing a story is a birthing process. I'm sure he can't believe the poor timing of the bomb, and Im sure there's a selfish, secret part of him that wants to let it loose on to a cynical world, and be damned. His labour, his time, his earnings. But he's a decent sort of chap it seems, and has a website where he asks his potential readers whether he should publish or not. Immediately one might think "no! - the poor taste of it..." etc. On the other hand, I'm going to work as normal and London seems to be pretty normal. As one commentator quoted in the New York Times said "should we not print stories about the second world war which might offend war veterans?"
I think he'll be cursed if he publishes by the politically correct mindfuckmonkeys in the media. But I reckon his publishers should go ahead anyway. Sure, the bombs were traumatizing, and many, including my dearly beloved, have not slept well as a result since. This is to be human. Its an inevitable symptom of a violent, but more importantly, uncommon event. It was truly frightening, especially for Lynn who had a near miss at Aldgate. Perhaps it took her back to radically, 1972. But Londoners, like the majority of Northern Irelanders of the 70s, are sturdy creatures and almost nothing can stop us from rocking on. Careful, intelligent analysis of the causes is a good thing. But if we are bitter and angry, and if we retrench too far into our little lives, only connecting with family and close friends as some Americans appear to have done after 9/11, the bastards win. We are not *better* than Americans - God knows how freaking awful it must have been for Americans, New Yorkers especially, but its not been a British tradition over the centuries to get anal and self-absorbed after these kinds of event. Just ask old timers who survived the Blitz.
So give it a decent pause, then publish. London carries on motoring, including its book publishing business.
Go to www.chriscleaver.com to leave your own opinion.
Mood: Bit bored
Book: Hip Hop America by Nelson...oh shit can't be bothered to check
Noise: Tubes and C2C trains going by
Friday, July 15, 2005
Addy Pooter and the Half-Baked Blog
The new Harry Potter book comes out tonight, "The Half-Blood Prince".
And the radio is full of snobby articles about adults reading kids books on the tube, and how low-brow this is. "They should be reading literature", cry the pundits, rubbing their hands in self-righteous frustration.
What's wrong with adults reading Harry Potter, asks I?
Why are we so keen to ram our own heads up our backsides in the name of book snobbery? Let me set my cards out here. I have read three Harry Potter books, and I'm 36. Did I like them? Yes. Would I read one on the tube? Yes. Am I nuts about them? No. Do they have faults? Definitely.
From the fantasy genre, the authors I've most enjoyed since childhood are CS Lewis - but of course, Douglas Adams, and Terry Pratchett. I like to do two Pratchetts a year.
I've just read Christopher Fowler's "Water Room" which is in its own way, fantasy, though its more of a whodunit. Now, Fowler is one of my heroes. Not only does he write stories which I can identify with, being a lover of the horror/mystery genre, but his knowledge of London makes Robert Elms's pale into insignificance. He writes armed with the full Peter Ackroyd arsenal it seems. But however much I love Christpher Fowler, and I've recommended his work to enough people, I won't kid myself or you that it is literature. I won't also describe myself as a towering genius, but I do enjoy classic literature as well. So, the critical few have really got to ask themselves, just because they prefer to mystery of art house films, but would watching Star Wars episode six do irevcoverable damage to their rarefied brains? Of course not.
Potter then: I think the Potter books I've read are examples of competent writing, and more importantly, writing that connects with children. The Potter books have minted JK Rowling a fortune, she's the richest woman in the UK. And partly this is down to marketing. But the first book's infamy was spread by and large by word of mouth. And it was children spreading the word.
Now to the point (at last! at last!). If ever you've dealt with children, in a parenting capacity or merely by babysitting two year old Miranda for your stay-at-home mates, you'll know that children are critical. Really critical. Not in the sniping way adults can be, but critical in that they spot immediately when something is dishonest. Just try telling a well-loved fairy story to a kid and making up a new ending. Unless you have toll the child that you are going to be creative in advance, a child will tell you in no uncertain terms that what you've done is neither fair or accurate. My dad used to do this all the time, and it was great fun hearing about Nose White and Nose Red. It was my dad's way and worked because we knew that dad didn't mean any harm by following his muse. But there is no way he could have palmed us off with his leftfield variations without giving us permission to do so first. It would have been perversion of the lowest order. Kids love certainty. When asked, Oliver Postgate, co-creator of Bagpuss, explained that each episode has long and repetitive headers and footers, not because kids are brainless and need the message drummed home, as some American programme makers seem to think, but because kids love *certainty*.
So back to the Harry P tales. Kids see through the bullshit where adults choose not to, even if its staring them int he face. And JK Rowling has connected with that need for honesty and craving for certainty.
More than this, the fact that children tell children about it must mean that they have discovered authenticity, and better still, authenticity contained within a ripping good yarn, which not only entertains, but enthralls, raises questions about the occult (and its brother, religion, hence the palaver which is produced every time a new books is released....zzzzzzz) . It is a school story, a magical romp (albeit a carefully orchestrated one) into the unknown. It is horror, and kids love horror. Anything can happen in Hogwarts, but JK's loving hand will always make sure you know that Harry will conquer, even if he travels way outside his, or the reader's comfort zone.
Will I be buying the new HP? No, but I shan't be scornfully turning up my nose when I spot those shy adults who have re-discovered their inner kid at la District Line.
And the radio is full of snobby articles about adults reading kids books on the tube, and how low-brow this is. "They should be reading literature", cry the pundits, rubbing their hands in self-righteous frustration.
What's wrong with adults reading Harry Potter, asks I?
Why are we so keen to ram our own heads up our backsides in the name of book snobbery? Let me set my cards out here. I have read three Harry Potter books, and I'm 36. Did I like them? Yes. Would I read one on the tube? Yes. Am I nuts about them? No. Do they have faults? Definitely.
From the fantasy genre, the authors I've most enjoyed since childhood are CS Lewis - but of course, Douglas Adams, and Terry Pratchett. I like to do two Pratchetts a year.
I've just read Christopher Fowler's "Water Room" which is in its own way, fantasy, though its more of a whodunit. Now, Fowler is one of my heroes. Not only does he write stories which I can identify with, being a lover of the horror/mystery genre, but his knowledge of London makes Robert Elms's pale into insignificance. He writes armed with the full Peter Ackroyd arsenal it seems. But however much I love Christpher Fowler, and I've recommended his work to enough people, I won't kid myself or you that it is literature. I won't also describe myself as a towering genius, but I do enjoy classic literature as well. So, the critical few have really got to ask themselves, just because they prefer to mystery of art house films, but would watching Star Wars episode six do irevcoverable damage to their rarefied brains? Of course not.
Potter then: I think the Potter books I've read are examples of competent writing, and more importantly, writing that connects with children. The Potter books have minted JK Rowling a fortune, she's the richest woman in the UK. And partly this is down to marketing. But the first book's infamy was spread by and large by word of mouth. And it was children spreading the word.
Now to the point (at last! at last!). If ever you've dealt with children, in a parenting capacity or merely by babysitting two year old Miranda for your stay-at-home mates, you'll know that children are critical. Really critical. Not in the sniping way adults can be, but critical in that they spot immediately when something is dishonest. Just try telling a well-loved fairy story to a kid and making up a new ending. Unless you have toll the child that you are going to be creative in advance, a child will tell you in no uncertain terms that what you've done is neither fair or accurate. My dad used to do this all the time, and it was great fun hearing about Nose White and Nose Red. It was my dad's way and worked because we knew that dad didn't mean any harm by following his muse. But there is no way he could have palmed us off with his leftfield variations without giving us permission to do so first. It would have been perversion of the lowest order. Kids love certainty. When asked, Oliver Postgate, co-creator of Bagpuss, explained that each episode has long and repetitive headers and footers, not because kids are brainless and need the message drummed home, as some American programme makers seem to think, but because kids love *certainty*.
So back to the Harry P tales. Kids see through the bullshit where adults choose not to, even if its staring them int he face. And JK Rowling has connected with that need for honesty and craving for certainty.
More than this, the fact that children tell children about it must mean that they have discovered authenticity, and better still, authenticity contained within a ripping good yarn, which not only entertains, but enthralls, raises questions about the occult (and its brother, religion, hence the palaver which is produced every time a new books is released....zzzzzzz) . It is a school story, a magical romp (albeit a carefully orchestrated one) into the unknown. It is horror, and kids love horror. Anything can happen in Hogwarts, but JK's loving hand will always make sure you know that Harry will conquer, even if he travels way outside his, or the reader's comfort zone.
Will I be buying the new HP? No, but I shan't be scornfully turning up my nose when I spot those shy adults who have re-discovered their inner kid at la District Line.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Too darn hot/bomb
Blow summer. I want winter back. No, not really, I love the lighter evenings and being able to sit in the garden eating al fresco. But I'm back to where I am with sleeping as last summer, in fact, for the past seven or eight summers I've not been able to kip.
What we lack in Britain is basic aircon. The Americans may have got some fundamental areas wrong,eg, building cities, but this is one area where I envy the average US Joe who can sit in their refrigerated house and enjoy the heat of the summer when it suits them, and retreat into an environment destroying but chilled environment. Stuff the planet - I want a human sized coolbox to call home.
It looks like the Met have the IDs of the London bombers, who were home grown, from Leeds in fact. Good on them. There has been reports of tension amongst non-Muslims and Muslims, but my own observations indicate that overall we've been fairly calm and understanding towards the Muslim population in London, most of whom, like everyone else, just want to be left to get on with their lives. The bombers are not Muslim extremists, just cold blooded murderers. The fact one of those trains would have passed through Upton Park, Muslim capital of London, tells me a lot about their stupid, unplanned bloodymindedness.
Music: REM
Mood: Uncomfortably warm
Work: (-10 to +10) 0
What we lack in Britain is basic aircon. The Americans may have got some fundamental areas wrong,eg, building cities, but this is one area where I envy the average US Joe who can sit in their refrigerated house and enjoy the heat of the summer when it suits them, and retreat into an environment destroying but chilled environment. Stuff the planet - I want a human sized coolbox to call home.
It looks like the Met have the IDs of the London bombers, who were home grown, from Leeds in fact. Good on them. There has been reports of tension amongst non-Muslims and Muslims, but my own observations indicate that overall we've been fairly calm and understanding towards the Muslim population in London, most of whom, like everyone else, just want to be left to get on with their lives. The bombers are not Muslim extremists, just cold blooded murderers. The fact one of those trains would have passed through Upton Park, Muslim capital of London, tells me a lot about their stupid, unplanned bloodymindedness.
Music: REM
Mood: Uncomfortably warm
Work: (-10 to +10) 0
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
The White Working Class - Channel 4
At last, a program on TV which didin't try to analyse the British class system with the simple assumption that the white working class are just scum. White Trash as our American friends would say. This is such a refreshing change!
"The British Working Class" on Channel 4 looked at it from the view that instead of being the racist, stupid bigots my class is commonly portrayed as being, we are in fact the new forgotten underclass. For years, since Mayhew in fact, examined the social and working condiitons in the East End, the British white working class have been considered worthy of examination, rather like zoo chimps. Then, after mass immigration to the UK, not only were we forgotten about at best, put in ghetto housing, and told how wonderful things were for us at worst, but in some cases actively blamed for the ensuing violence which occurred in Britain during the late 70s and early 80s (Skinheads/neo-Nazis).
Under the microscope of the chattering classes were these newly arrived immigrants. The programme, introduced by a guy I've never heard of called Michael Collins - not *that* one obviously! - argued that after the killing of Stephen Lawrence, the media took the line that because it was performed by several white working class boys, there was a festering tide of racism in the satelite suburbs. Suburbs those in the meeja don't live in by and large. Places like Eltham and Dagenham.
The facts don't bare this out however. The BNP in Dagenham hasn't got a hope in hell of getting elected. I grew up near Southall and from a very young age, lived with Sikh Indians, and having gone to school in Shepherds Bush, black kids too. During the Southall riots, about 500 yards from my home, there were as many whites protesting at the killing of Blair Peach by neo-nazis, as Indians. The white working class is *not* inherently racist, despite what you might believe by listening to the crap pumped out by the press and TV. Growing up with minorities wasn't a big deal for the vast majority of us whites in the crappy suburbs and industrial towns of the UK.
I'm digressing a little.
What made this programme interesting for me was the fact that it had been made at all. The content is debatable, sure, but I'm so glad that someone has tried to set the record straight here. I have felt, whenever I hear tales of white racists in Burnley and saaaaarf London, that there is a big chunk of truth missing from the simplistic assumption that we are all unworthy to participate in the great debate because we are all racists *just because we are*. The stupid arseholes who preach political correctlness at people like me should really examine their own back yard, and their own guilt attached to it. If there is any racism, and don't get me wrong, of course there is, then the question that is constantly not asked is *why?* While a pissed off kid in Burnley might sock a muslim taxi driver and his family for the impression he's being favoured over his family by the council, is it not worse that the muslim taxi driver (who might be well-educated) is forced to drive taxis in the first place?
Mr Collins, I felt, had crossed that bridge between being part of class I too have belonged to, and at the same time can look at that class from a middle class perspective. Despite pretensions of social mobility, this ability of his is a rare one. I open my mouth and as soon as someone hears a glottal stop or flattened vowel, 1000 stereotypes have been created for and of me. And those working class kids who cross that bridge do have a habit of going into some kind of class denial. Not me, and apprently not Monsieur Collins. Several people I know have deliberately abandoned or softened their Geordie or Manchester accents. Why would this be if that accent was a source of an identity they wished to keep? Who knows, maybe I only keep mine because its one that so many middle class people want to acquire - but generally fail to sound authentic in doing so!
This bit of telly tried to correct the imbalance of accepted opinion, thought it did veer towards sentimentality. A tiny bit.
But nice one trying Michael.
Mood: Too hot and correspondingly tetchy
Book: The Water Room
Music: Radio 6
"The British Working Class" on Channel 4 looked at it from the view that instead of being the racist, stupid bigots my class is commonly portrayed as being, we are in fact the new forgotten underclass. For years, since Mayhew in fact, examined the social and working condiitons in the East End, the British white working class have been considered worthy of examination, rather like zoo chimps. Then, after mass immigration to the UK, not only were we forgotten about at best, put in ghetto housing, and told how wonderful things were for us at worst, but in some cases actively blamed for the ensuing violence which occurred in Britain during the late 70s and early 80s (Skinheads/neo-Nazis).
Under the microscope of the chattering classes were these newly arrived immigrants. The programme, introduced by a guy I've never heard of called Michael Collins - not *that* one obviously! - argued that after the killing of Stephen Lawrence, the media took the line that because it was performed by several white working class boys, there was a festering tide of racism in the satelite suburbs. Suburbs those in the meeja don't live in by and large. Places like Eltham and Dagenham.
The facts don't bare this out however. The BNP in Dagenham hasn't got a hope in hell of getting elected. I grew up near Southall and from a very young age, lived with Sikh Indians, and having gone to school in Shepherds Bush, black kids too. During the Southall riots, about 500 yards from my home, there were as many whites protesting at the killing of Blair Peach by neo-nazis, as Indians. The white working class is *not* inherently racist, despite what you might believe by listening to the crap pumped out by the press and TV. Growing up with minorities wasn't a big deal for the vast majority of us whites in the crappy suburbs and industrial towns of the UK.
I'm digressing a little.
What made this programme interesting for me was the fact that it had been made at all. The content is debatable, sure, but I'm so glad that someone has tried to set the record straight here. I have felt, whenever I hear tales of white racists in Burnley and saaaaarf London, that there is a big chunk of truth missing from the simplistic assumption that we are all unworthy to participate in the great debate because we are all racists *just because we are*. The stupid arseholes who preach political correctlness at people like me should really examine their own back yard, and their own guilt attached to it. If there is any racism, and don't get me wrong, of course there is, then the question that is constantly not asked is *why?* While a pissed off kid in Burnley might sock a muslim taxi driver and his family for the impression he's being favoured over his family by the council, is it not worse that the muslim taxi driver (who might be well-educated) is forced to drive taxis in the first place?
Mr Collins, I felt, had crossed that bridge between being part of class I too have belonged to, and at the same time can look at that class from a middle class perspective. Despite pretensions of social mobility, this ability of his is a rare one. I open my mouth and as soon as someone hears a glottal stop or flattened vowel, 1000 stereotypes have been created for and of me. And those working class kids who cross that bridge do have a habit of going into some kind of class denial. Not me, and apprently not Monsieur Collins. Several people I know have deliberately abandoned or softened their Geordie or Manchester accents. Why would this be if that accent was a source of an identity they wished to keep? Who knows, maybe I only keep mine because its one that so many middle class people want to acquire - but generally fail to sound authentic in doing so!
This bit of telly tried to correct the imbalance of accepted opinion, thought it did veer towards sentimentality. A tiny bit.
But nice one trying Michael.
Mood: Too hot and correspondingly tetchy
Book: The Water Room
Music: Radio 6
Sunday, July 10, 2005
London terror - that 'Monday' feeling
Its weird. All my London friends have a 'well lets get on with it' attitude. Whereas my out of London friends and family are more frightened for us than we are.
This includes Lynn's mum. Lynn spent much of her early life in the Shankhill Road area of Belfast, and her mum would put her to bed in the back room of the house to avoid stray bullets from hitting her. The flats opposite there's used to be quite a popular venue for gun target practice apparently!
I was talking to Lynn about this phenomena this morning, and she reminded me how nervous I was during my first trip to Northern Ireland. Its true that if you are living in the thick of things, and lets face it, it's quite likely that this is merely Terrorist Attack numero uno, you have a, if not blase, then at least the attitude that errs on the side of having to pay your mortgage, visit friends on the other side of London and otherwise carry on living.
I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of going to work tomorrow, but the little bastards won't be stopping me or Lynn from doing just that. I'd much rather be sitting on Bondai Beach with a cocktail in my hand, or perhaps walking through a Swedish forest. But London will have to do for now.
So when you read that London is 'burning with terror' as some al-Queada site was quoted as saying then quite honestly, its total shit.
The Blitz Spirit is an oft quoted cliche used to described how it feels in London right now. It is hackneyed. But its true as well.
This includes Lynn's mum. Lynn spent much of her early life in the Shankhill Road area of Belfast, and her mum would put her to bed in the back room of the house to avoid stray bullets from hitting her. The flats opposite there's used to be quite a popular venue for gun target practice apparently!
I was talking to Lynn about this phenomena this morning, and she reminded me how nervous I was during my first trip to Northern Ireland. Its true that if you are living in the thick of things, and lets face it, it's quite likely that this is merely Terrorist Attack numero uno, you have a, if not blase, then at least the attitude that errs on the side of having to pay your mortgage, visit friends on the other side of London and otherwise carry on living.
I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of going to work tomorrow, but the little bastards won't be stopping me or Lynn from doing just that. I'd much rather be sitting on Bondai Beach with a cocktail in my hand, or perhaps walking through a Swedish forest. But London will have to do for now.
So when you read that London is 'burning with terror' as some al-Queada site was quoted as saying then quite honestly, its total shit.
The Blitz Spirit is an oft quoted cliche used to described how it feels in London right now. It is hackneyed. But its true as well.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Mick and Krissy
Before I forget, Mick and Krissy have finally split up for the last time. This happened two days ago but I've just thought of publishing this fabulous fact.
Well then you two, R.I.P.
It was good while it lasted. Lynn and me certainly expect to see more of you these days.
Well then you two, R.I.P.
It was good while it lasted. Lynn and me certainly expect to see more of you these days.
Normal people and terrorism
I'm shattered and want my bed after today's events. I'm sending you mine and Lynn's account of today's fun packed adventure. This I sent to an email list I'm a part of, but it gives you an idea of what went on. Suffice to say, we are safe, well and at home. It feels like being part of a dream...
Anyway, here's our stories:
At 8.10 we left for work. Lynn had risen earlier, intending to take Kizzie through the park behind our house before catching the tube. However, I slopped downstairs, had a smoke and coffee, and Lynn decided she'd delay,and instead come in as far as West Ham with me, where I'd take the Jubilee Line to Neasden. However, just as we were about to leave, I thought I might have left the back windows open, so I ran through the house, opened the back door and had a look. Fortunately I hadn't, but because I was conscious Lynn was hanging around outside the house, I got muddled, and tried to lock the front door with the back door keys which I'd stupidly kept in my hand. This delayed us for a few minutes.We then took the District Line tube. At West Ham our stories split.
Mine is sort of boring. The Jubilee Line was running a bit slow, and when it reached Westminster the driver announced that due to a power surge, it wouldn't be stopping there. We moved on to Baker Street, and the driver announced that the train would be moving slowly onwards because of a broken down train ahead. When we got to St John's Wood, we were told to evacuate the station. I was at the front of the train near the drivers cab and was listening in to the cab radio. Our driver had no more a clue than me as to what was going on. I then took a bus up to Finchely Road. Still no tubes.After half an hour I had caught up with the news of what was happening in central London
and decided that getting to work would only leave me stranded there. So instead I decided I'd try and get as far east as possible, and took the North London Line, fortunately still running as far as Hackney. At this point I knew that Lynn was safe and was being taken by a kind hearted stranger to Stepney, where Graham P would meet her. I went in to Marks and Spencer, bought us all some sandwiches and cream scones and asked the checkout woman if she'd heard any news . She told me that she'd heard none of the buses were running into town and that she was pleased because her husband was a bus driver, on his rest day. Indeed, the buses outside Marks's were all being terminated at Hackney , so I walked the couple of miles to Graham P's. There was certainly that sense of things going on as normal, rather like the second day in the War of the World book (the real story by HGW) where people carried on as if nothing had happened. Really odd.
Anyways...Lynn's story. The pre-amble, re the door key was just a way of demonstrating how bloody lucky some of us are. You see, Lynn got into Whitechapel station at about 8.45. She sat there for ten minutes and the driver announced that due to power surges the train in front had broken down. Soon after the passengers were given a rather strange announcement which sounded something like "at at at attention, please leave....at at atat tention", etc. It sounded as though some power cut had triggered a faulty automatic message. No one responded until the driver told the passengers to leave the station. Turns out that at 8.51 the train in front of hers, at Aldgate East, got blown up. I've just watched the news and the train was a District Line, and quite probably the one she would have taken had we not faffed around with keys and windows. She was then taken to Stepney where she met Graham, had a coffee, and eventually was united with me . This is the second time she's missed a head on explosion. When she was about 9 years old, she was walking through Belfast after school with herelder sister. Both of them were surprised at how quiet the street was. Both were grabbed by soldiers who asked them how they hell they'd just walked through a cordon without being stopped.
The street had on it a car bomb . A minute after the soldiers took her and her sister Sandra away, the car blew up. I too have missed a couple: me and my sis were in Oxford Street Debenhams an hour before it was bombed in 1981, I think it was. Also, I missed the Brixton nail bomb by 40 minutes. I'd been stranding outside Iceland (where the bomb was planted) at a bus stop with portable keyboard in my arms,purchased cheap from a mate round the corner. Got to Liverpool Street and found out how close I'd been.
We watched TV with Graham, then at 3-ish decided to try and make our way home. Eventually, after some farting around, we took a rather packed C2C mainline train to Barking, had a coffee, and headed home via bus. No tubes running then, none now as a I write. So there you go. Despite what you might hear on the news, for those not caught up in the bombings themselves , there wasn't a huge panic. There isn't going to be civil unrest mass hysteria. The sense of calmness is surreal really. I think we'll just get on with it. For those who were killed, R.I.P. But for everyone who made it through today, well done. We are lucky f*ckers sometimes.
Anyway, here's our stories:
At 8.10 we left for work. Lynn had risen earlier, intending to take Kizzie through the park behind our house before catching the tube. However, I slopped downstairs, had a smoke and coffee, and Lynn decided she'd delay,and instead come in as far as West Ham with me, where I'd take the Jubilee Line to Neasden. However, just as we were about to leave, I thought I might have left the back windows open, so I ran through the house, opened the back door and had a look. Fortunately I hadn't, but because I was conscious Lynn was hanging around outside the house, I got muddled, and tried to lock the front door with the back door keys which I'd stupidly kept in my hand. This delayed us for a few minutes.We then took the District Line tube. At West Ham our stories split.
Mine is sort of boring. The Jubilee Line was running a bit slow, and when it reached Westminster the driver announced that due to a power surge, it wouldn't be stopping there. We moved on to Baker Street, and the driver announced that the train would be moving slowly onwards because of a broken down train ahead. When we got to St John's Wood, we were told to evacuate the station. I was at the front of the train near the drivers cab and was listening in to the cab radio. Our driver had no more a clue than me as to what was going on. I then took a bus up to Finchely Road. Still no tubes.After half an hour I had caught up with the news of what was happening in central London
and decided that getting to work would only leave me stranded there. So instead I decided I'd try and get as far east as possible, and took the North London Line, fortunately still running as far as Hackney. At this point I knew that Lynn was safe and was being taken by a kind hearted stranger to Stepney, where Graham P would meet her. I went in to Marks and Spencer, bought us all some sandwiches and cream scones and asked the checkout woman if she'd heard any news . She told me that she'd heard none of the buses were running into town and that she was pleased because her husband was a bus driver, on his rest day. Indeed, the buses outside Marks's were all being terminated at Hackney , so I walked the couple of miles to Graham P's. There was certainly that sense of things going on as normal, rather like the second day in the War of the World book (the real story by HGW) where people carried on as if nothing had happened. Really odd.
Anyways...Lynn's story. The pre-amble, re the door key was just a way of demonstrating how bloody lucky some of us are. You see, Lynn got into Whitechapel station at about 8.45. She sat there for ten minutes and the driver announced that due to power surges the train in front had broken down. Soon after the passengers were given a rather strange announcement which sounded something like "at at at attention, please leave....at at atat tention", etc. It sounded as though some power cut had triggered a faulty automatic message. No one responded until the driver told the passengers to leave the station. Turns out that at 8.51 the train in front of hers, at Aldgate East, got blown up. I've just watched the news and the train was a District Line, and quite probably the one she would have taken had we not faffed around with keys and windows. She was then taken to Stepney where she met Graham, had a coffee, and eventually was united with me . This is the second time she's missed a head on explosion. When she was about 9 years old, she was walking through Belfast after school with herelder sister. Both of them were surprised at how quiet the street was. Both were grabbed by soldiers who asked them how they hell they'd just walked through a cordon without being stopped.
The street had on it a car bomb . A minute after the soldiers took her and her sister Sandra away, the car blew up. I too have missed a couple: me and my sis were in Oxford Street Debenhams an hour before it was bombed in 1981, I think it was. Also, I missed the Brixton nail bomb by 40 minutes. I'd been stranding outside Iceland (where the bomb was planted) at a bus stop with portable keyboard in my arms,purchased cheap from a mate round the corner. Got to Liverpool Street and found out how close I'd been.
We watched TV with Graham, then at 3-ish decided to try and make our way home. Eventually, after some farting around, we took a rather packed C2C mainline train to Barking, had a coffee, and headed home via bus. No tubes running then, none now as a I write. So there you go. Despite what you might hear on the news, for those not caught up in the bombings themselves , there wasn't a huge panic. There isn't going to be civil unrest mass hysteria. The sense of calmness is surreal really. I think we'll just get on with it. For those who were killed, R.I.P. But for everyone who made it through today, well done. We are lucky f*ckers sometimes.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
2012 Olympics for London
Being a Londoner born and bred I’m pleased that our city has been given the chance to hold the Olympics. We could do a fantastic job. We are certainly up there with New York in terms of world importance, and as for running projects on this scale, we’ve become a lot better at it, Wembley and Picketts Lock aside – the latter being a miserable failure, and former a project which is driving the construction company towards bankruptcy.
Yet while I am proud that my home city managed to pull itself from third place (and gave the French something to think about) I do wonder about the long-term effect, and the aftermath of the so-called legacy.
If managed well, it could be a wonderful thing for Londoners. It’s just that in the past this is something we have been very poor at.
Only time will tell. I hope that in 2016 we are not looking at a load of underused or derelict stadia, swimming pools etc. But I think that’s what we’ll be seeing.
Stratford, at least the area between the station and Hackney Wick, is not an area rich in beauty. If you’ve travelled through it on the 276 you’ll know what I mean. It is one full of dirty industry – industry that employs real people and pays real wages. What will happen to the businesses currently occupying that area? Some of them are complaining that they haven’t been given full compensation, money that in my opinion they fully deserve.
Yet while I am proud that my home city managed to pull itself from third place (and gave the French something to think about) I do wonder about the long-term effect, and the aftermath of the so-called legacy.
If managed well, it could be a wonderful thing for Londoners. It’s just that in the past this is something we have been very poor at.
Only time will tell. I hope that in 2016 we are not looking at a load of underused or derelict stadia, swimming pools etc. But I think that’s what we’ll be seeing.
Stratford, at least the area between the station and Hackney Wick, is not an area rich in beauty. If you’ve travelled through it on the 276 you’ll know what I mean. It is one full of dirty industry – industry that employs real people and pays real wages. What will happen to the businesses currently occupying that area? Some of them are complaining that they haven’t been given full compensation, money that in my opinion they fully deserve.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Live 8
The level of cynicism and apathy directed at Live 8 astounds me. Especially with regards to calls to BBC London.
Bob Geldof isn’t perfect, but for those doubting Thomases who believe that since Live Aid, nothing has changed in Africa really ought to ask themselves what the fuck they have done. Zilch mostly..
Live 8 might not make Africa a new Xanadu overnight but it has changed the way most Britons think about Africa. And hopefully it will give the push the G8 leaders need to alter the terms and conditions for trade which that continent is being offered.